One Day my Duke will Come: The Wayward Woodvilles Book 5 Read online

  "He is not so very bad, Millie," her father interjected. "He's handsome, athletic, and you'll be the envy of every debutante in London when they hear you married one of England's most eligible bachelors."

  "And if that bachelor does not give up his bachelor ways? I'll be cuckolded before our first married week."

  "Millie," her mother scolded.

  Her father's mouth thinned into a displeased line. "Let us hope that does not happen. I'm sure he will do the right thing and be loyal to you. He is, after all, a gentleman."

  "From what I’ve heard of society marriages, that makes little difference," Millie blurted. "Please do not make me do this, Papa."

  Her father shuffled his feet with unease. "It’ll all be well, my dear. Your marriage will not be an unhappy one, no matter how it came about in the first place."

  Millie shook her head. Not believing that for a moment. "I think all of this is utter bullocks," she added. "I do not like or agree to this. You must intervene and put a stop to it. Making a young woman marry a man merely because she entered his room by accident is outrageous behavior."

  "And yet that is what will happen, and there will not be another thing said on the matter. You'll marry the duke and save your reputation. I cannot allow my youngest child to be ostracized by her friends. You deserve more than that, even if that means you must sacrifice all that you dreamed of, ensuring your survival in this world."

  Millie swallowed the lump in her throat. All her plans, her debut to the queen, nights at Almacks, her wish to be courted, seduced, kissed, maybe from the man who would be her beloved, all gone, and just because she counted wrong.

  Damn the Duke of Romney to hell.

  * * *

  Tatum tapped on Miss Woodville's door and smiled at her father when he opened the door to her room. The chaos in the passage he had woken to had ceased, and they were now alone upstairs to deal with this unfortunate mess.

  A mess that Miss Woodville had created all on her own.

  His gut churned at the thought of being betrothed. Not just to Miss Woodville but to anyone. After Eleanor's cruelty, he relished his solitude and did not seek to marry again. He had a mistress who fulfilled his needs. He did not need a wife as well. He had a happily married brother who was more than capable of ensuring the Romney line. He did not have to marry or breed like others of his ilk to keep the family line going.

  Should he marry the hellion before him, all of that would be ripped away. He could not stand having another betrothed who did not care for him. And Miss Woodville would certainly blame him for the prickly situation they now found themselves in.

  He followed Mr. Woodville and kept his eyes on the gentleman's shoulders, anywhere but at Miss Woodville. Not until he had calmed his temper at her atrocious mistake would he look at her again.

  Silly little fool. How dare she trick him into a union between them.

  He sat on a vacant settee and faced the Woodvilles. Well, perhaps she had not tricked him. She certainly seemed to think his room was hers. But that did not change the fact they would now be forced to marry, and as a gentleman, he would have to agree to the farce.

  He cleared his throat, the words difficult to get out. Not that he had a chance to speak first.

  "Who has a bath in the middle of the day anyway?" she said accusingly. "You had not long risen from bed, and you had not ridden out this morning, for you were being a pain all morning in the drawing room. So why did you have to have a bath, Your Grace?" she asked.

  He gaped. What the hell. "Excuse me, but I may do whatever I wish in my room, including bathing if I feel the need. You were the one who walked into my room as if you owned it and then accused me of bathing in yours. You're the fool here, Miss Woodville. Not I, but I will be paying the price for your error, no one else."

  "We shall both be paying for that mistake, Your Grace, for life, not just you. Do not think yourself the only one upset about this monstrous idea of us marrying. I do not want to marry you at all. In fact, I would prefer scandal and ruin over being married to you."

  "That is not an option. For either of you," Mr. Woodville interjected, his tone stern.

  Tatum glared at the chit who would soon be his wife. She was a comely piece of arse, but she would be mistaken if she were hoping for a natural marriage. He had no interest in bedding her. No one wanted to bed Satan.

  And the murderous burn in her eyes told him she did not want him anywhere near her either.

  He sighed at the thought of his future, one he was once content and looking forward to vanishing before him, and all because some country miss couldn't count.

  Fool.

  Chapter

  Three

  This was utterly ridiculous.

  The following day her sisters, all of whom were now at Blackhaven Estate, volunteered to make a celebration of her upcoming marriage to the Duke of Romney.

  Millie stood beside the duke, glass of champagne in hand, as Julia made the announcement to the guests, if any had not already heard.

  "Thank you all so much for attending my darling sister's first house party as a married woman. And to continue with the merrymaking, our family is delighted to announce the betrothal of Miss Millie Woodville to His Grace, the Duke of Romney. We wish you both very happy," Julia said, lifting her glass.

  Her family shouted congratulations, along with a few startled guests who had not heard what had transpired between them.

  Millie sipped her drink, forcing a smile on her lips when she craved to scowl and wail at everyone. How could this be happening? How could she marry the behemoth man at her side who took up too much space and air in any given room he inhabited.

  His crystal glass clicked against hers, and she glanced at him, his mirrored fake visage giving her some peace. At least she knew in this absurd farce of an engagement, they agreed.

  "Thank you, everyone," His Grace said in his usual deep baritone that had always made her wonder if he used that seductive tone with his lovers. Which, from all accounts, she had thought were many. Would he give them up, such a carefree lifestyle, now he was to be married?

  Millie fought back a snarl. Of course, he would not. Their marriage was a forced union and certainly not a love match. He had no loyalty to her, and considering how they did not get along, it was unlikely he would ever grow any.

  Should she try to beguile him to fall for her charms, he would see the false ploy that it was and most likely laugh in her face at the ridiculousness of it all. They had done nothing but bait one another since their introduction. Their marriage would be a calamity.

  "We shall be very happy," he finished, and before Millie could say a word about it, he dipped his head and kissed her cheek.

  His warm lips touched her skin but a moment. Awareness of the masculine, virile man at her side ran through her. He was tall, handsome, a catch to be sure, and he was to be her husband.

  But there was no love. Not even like. What a disaster they would be.

  The idea that she would have to share a room, a bed with the duke, had not been something she had time to think on. Would he expect her to change freely before him, bathe, and even sleep?

  A man she disliked.

  Whatever would she do?

  Could she run away? Was there anyone else suitable for her at this house party who she could ruin herself with a second time? One who was much more palatable?

  "You look as if you're scheming something. Care to tell?" His Grace asked her, his attention on her. Had he been staring at her this whole time she was thinking of things to do to get out of this hellish mistake.

  "I wish I could scheme myself out of this room and house far, far away from you." She met his eye. "We cannot marry, Your Grace. We must find a way to bring this farce to a halt before it is too late."

  He frowned, finishing his champagne before gesturing to a nearby footman for another. "And what do you suggest I do? Flee and leave you to the wolves who would eat you alive?"

  "It is a disaster," she admitted. "To thi
nk that in a matter of weeks, we shall be residing under the same roof, within the same bedchamber…I cannot fathom such a situation. We must escape."

  He chuckled, and she glared at him. Not seeing anything that resembled amusement in their situation.

  "Weeks?" he said. "Try three days. Your father has suggested under the circumstances of our reveal, as it was, that it would be best that I married you sooner rather than later. They have settled on three days, two from now, so I suggest you pick out your favorite gown and have your attendants selected for we're to marry in the Blackhaven Estate’s church by week's end."

  A cold shiver ran down her spine.

  This could not be her future. This could not be reality. Millie turned to the duke and could see from his stern countenance that he meant every word he spoke. "I'm not ready to be a wife, not to you or anyone who does not love me." Three days and she would be forced to lay with the man at her side. How was she to retire for the night and know that a perfect stranger would want to be with her intimately?

  She had not even kissed a man. How was she to sleep with one?

  "I'm not ready to have a wife either, so we're equal on that score. However, I do not see how we're to get out of this mess. Your inability to count has sunk both our ships, and we'll have to face this travesty and deal with it together. Forever," he practically spat at her, reminding her of her mistake.

  Millie wasn't a woman who allowed emotion to rule her, but something in his words, the meaning and the awful, gut-wrenching idea of sleeping with a stranger, was too much. She set down her glass of champagne and left the room. She had celebrated enough for one day of her upcoming nuptials. Nuptials that felt more like she was walking to the gallows than a church.

  Gallows, too, would be much preferable to marrying the duke.

  * * *

  Tatum sighed, having not wanted to be as harsh to Miss Woodville as he was. She hastily exited the room and he shook his head at the reality that faced them both. Their future was grim indeed. They both would have to get used to being together, being husband and wife, which may take time. A lot of time.

  He had never ruined anyone in his life, and he wasn't about to start now with the sister-in-law to his close friend, Howley. They had to marry, and she needed to reconcile herself to that fact.

  He set his glass down and went after her. They would have to come to some sort of agreement if the marriage would occur without a hitch or any more scandal attached to it.

  He caught up to her, sneaking into the music room at the back of the house. He followed her into the ample space. The gilded ceilings matched the grand piano, which was just as elaborate. A harp sat next to a window, a perfect situation to play and dream if one wished.

  She heard the snick on the lock and rounded on him. She faced him, hands on decidedly lovely hips, her mouth pressed into an annoyed line. He ignored the fact her lips were a beautiful, kissable shape.

  "What are you doing following me in here alone? Have we not courted scandal enough?" She slumped onto a nearby settee, crossing her arms over breasts accentuated by her position.

  Tatum inwardly groaned and joined her, this conversation was required before their animosity went too far. "Millie," he said. "May I call you by your given name? Miss Woodville seems too formal in the situation we now find ourselves in."

  Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded. A small win. "Very well, so long as I can call you by yours, whatever that may be. I do not like to be the only one in this farce of a marriage to be so formal while you are not."

  "That is understandable. My name is Tatum Chance, Duke of Romney, to be precise. You may call me Tatum if that suits you."

  She studied him but did not answer.

  "Now that we have that out of the way, we do need to talk of the situation in which we find ourselves. We cannot move forward until I feel a few matters that will arise after our marriage are dealt with."

  "Such as?" she asked him.

  "Such as how we will go on as husband and wife." He paused, thinking over his words. Wanting to be understandable without being too coarse for a lady. "Our marriage will mean that you're not ruined, and I'm not labeled a randy dog who could not keep itself in its own yard."

  "Sums you up well," she quipped.

  He frowned at her. "If I had wanted to mount you, I would have done it already, Millie," he said, enjoying the kiss of heat that blossomed on her cheeks. "But I do not want you to think that I want us to have a usual marriage. Or at least the same as your sisters have found."

  "Go on," she said, her eyes cautious and assessing.

  "We do not know one another, and it would have been unlikely I would have courted you with my intent on marrying you. The only reason we're here is because of an error."

  "Which I suppose you wish to remind me of yet again?" she said.

  "No," he said. "What I'm trying to say is that I will not expect anything from you. I do not want a wife any more than you want me as your husband. I know that most young ladies wish to pick whom they marry and love for themselves, and I am not that man for you. You," he gestured at her, "are not what I planned for either."

  "You speak as if you never wished to marry at all," she said, eyeing him.

  He heard no malice in her words, merely interest. "That is right. I have a brother who has a son and is currently my heir. I do not need to marry. But fate has other plans for us, and we're now bound together forever."

  "And our married lives will be together when we're out in London, but apart when home. Is that what you're trying to say since you expect nothing from me?" she asked him.

  "That is right. If we're to have any peace, not to bicker over different opinions on matters, I think this way forward is most suitable. We shall look to society as a pair who may have unconventional beginnings but who have grown to care for each other. But in truth, you may do whatever you like within reason, and I shall do the same."

  "How very sad that all sounds, but I agree. We should know where we stand and step forward as we mean to continue."

  He nodded, glad she was intelligent enough to understand his view. "I could not have said the words more perfectly myself."

  She held out her hand to him. "Should we shake hands on the deal, Your Grace?" she said.

  He took her hand, warm and small, into his and shook it a little. "You have yourself a deal, Millie."

  "As do you, Tatum," she returned.

  Chapter

  Four

  Millie understood perfectly what the duke was trying to say. He did not find her attractive and never would. He preferred anyone else but her to be his wife. She ought to be insulted by his truth, but she was not. If anything, it was a relief. She was glad of their plan and truce. It would mean she could travel to London, have her Season, and maybe even have a little more fun than most since she would be a duchess, not a country mouse whom no one knew.

  "I will admit that I'm pleased with our plan, Your Grace. It will make this farce of a marriage tolerable."

  He nodded, his face grave. "I do hope we can be friends and pleasant to one another. After all, we will be married a long time."

  All true, but there was one fact he had failed to elaborate on. He would not ask anything of her, so what did that mean when it came to having children? He had his brother’s son as his heir already. Did that mean he truly did not wish to sire any with her? Ever? Or merely did not want to discuss such matters, not now at least. There was already enough tension between them, and maybe he did not want to create any more right now.

  Heat blossomed in her chest at the thought of sleeping with him, merely to have children. She had always wanted some, two at least, but she had hoped the husband who gave them to her would be someone she desired and loved.

  She took in His Grace. He was handsome, tall, and muscular. Her gaze dipped to his arms, his strong, wide shoulders, not to mention his hands were quite large.

  A shiver stole over her at the thought of him touching her with his hands. Would his fingers be nimble
in undoing her gown?

  She could try to tempt him with her wiles, but the thought made her stomach knot, and it would never work in any case. She was not worldly enough to be irresistible.

  "Millie? Are you listening to me?" he asked her.

  Millie started, her gaze flying to his. "Of course, I was listening. I was merely taking in all you were saying," she lied, having not heard a word.

  "I stated that I shall give you a monthly allowance of a hundred pounds. If you need more, merely ask. That does not include money for gowns or other fripperies that you may like." His mouth lifted in a small smile, and she could understand why women fell at this man's feet.

  There was something about him that drew in a person. For all his brawn and good looks, he was not unkind. Not really. They may disagree on things, but that was nothing in the scheme of things. After all, he was a duke, and he could have told everyone to bugger off and forget about him marrying her and saving her reputation.

  She supposed she ought to thank him… "If I have not said it before, I am sorry to have forced this marriage onto you, but I thank you for not letting me ruin myself through my own fault."

  He reached out and clasped her hand, squeezing it a little. "You are the sister-in-law to one of my closest friends. I would not let you suffer such a fate."

  "I would hope you would do what you are for me for anyone," she stated.

  "Of course, but our nuptials' hastiness is solely because of who you are and who I know."

  "Very well," she said, not wishing to press the point. "Where shall we live? I do not think I have even seen your house in London or heard of your estate." In fact, up until this house party, she had not known much about the Duke of Romney at all. Having met him here, and their instant dislike of each other, she’d not wished to acquaint herself further.

  How ironic that they were now engaged.